Praise.
If she were here in flesh (and not as an ancestor), Auntie would encourage me to do that. Maybe she’s still doing so...maybe that’s why this Poem-A-Day— “Praise” by Angelo Geter— dropping into my inbox at 3am felt like intercession or prophecy.
This past week I have been the sickest I have been in a very long time. That is significant for 2 reasons. First, it’s draining as hell. On top of everything else going on right now, it’s not the ideal time to Black, female, and getting sicker. (#CovidIsSTILLaThing #YallSureBlackLivesMatterThisTime🤨 #WeIncludingWomen? #WeIncludingALLWomen?) In other words, it’s emotionally, taxing also, y’all.
A small respite in a devastatingly difficult week.
Secondly, and less sassily 🙃, I have always known my illness has an eventual and final downturn. There will be a point when the onset of new symptoms is not an “infection” but is actually a sign of my lungs worsening. And there isn’t a lot of room left for them to “worsen to.” 😔 So we’ve been waiting anxiously to see if this round of antibiotics has an effect; my doctor said that if it didn’t, we’d need to do some tests to investigate. But Justin and I both registered the concern in his eyes (even on a telehealth appointment). And we knew the weight of the uncertainty immediately ahead of us. But today, though I am still needing to wear my oxygen most of the time (which is new for me), I say “praise.”
For the pills 💊 that have been working.
For the oxygen that fortifies me.
For the sleep that has mercifully visited me.
For my husband.
For my mother.
For my sisters.
For all the ancestors praying my strength.
And praise…for the body that has not yet quit.
Please, read this poem. Listen. You can hear the poet speak his own words. Few things are more powerful.